God Without a Temple

A Sermon by The Rev. David R. Anderson

Fifth Sunday of Easter May 2, 2010

Saint Luke’s Parish 2

Darien, Connecticut

“I saw no temple in the city.” These are the first words St. John the Divine uses today to describe his great vision of the Heavenly City—the New Jerusalem—the center of the world-to-come, where God is all in all. And what does he see? Not a Temple in sight. No temple. I imagine that was a stunning vision. St. John wrote these words in exile somewhere near the end of the first century. But some 20 years earlier the earthly city of Jerusalem had been destroyed. And the worst—the stake through the heart—was the destruction of the temple. For the Jews, the temple wasn’t just the focus of their religion, it was the place where God’s presence dwelt. The shekinah glory of God rested atop the golden ark of the covenant between the cherubim—(most of us are more familiar with that awesome image from “Raiders of the Lost Ark” than we are from the Bible!). But that is where God was . . . where God was located. So I imagine it took John by surprise when he woke from his dream-vision of the end of time and the consummation of all things, and . . . no temple. Twelve years ago this Sunday, I stood at a borrowed altar in an elementary school gymnasium. Seven days earlier I had stood in the parking lot with scores of my parishioners and watched our church burn. By the time I got there at 10:00 at night the parish school and the parish hall were already engulfed in flames, and we watched helplessly as the fire tore through our church. Everything burned down that night. That’s how I ended up preaching under a basketball bangboard twelve years ago today. And I read this Epistle. I said to hundreds of people in shock, “So here we are. Our temple has been destroyed, and we’ve been exiled to a school gym.” What we all learned through that ordeal was that our church was not a building. And that the presence of God was not in our church, no matter how beautiful that old stone church was. The presence of God was in us, just like the Bible says: we are all “temples of the Holy Spirit.” And to be honest, we looked around at each other and thought, “If this is the church, we’re in trouble. If the Spirit is waiting on you and you and you and me to embody that Spirit and carry it to one another and out into the world, we may not make it. Someone stood in the gymnasium that day and said, “I joined this church and it filled this enormous need in my life. And now it’s gone—and now I’ve got to trust all of you.” It’s one thing to join a “church,” that is, a stone temple, stained glass windows and beautiful vestments, and you can come here to this beautiful place—like the people of Israel did—because this is the place where God dwells. You can pull down your kneeler and say your prayers, and listen to a great choir. You can do your worship and go home. But what if the church is gone? What if there is no temple? And now we have to find God’s presence not in one particular, trustworthy place, but we have to find God’s presence everywhere. That’s what Jesus says in the gospel—“I am going away and I am coming to you.” His physical presence is “going away” so that the Spirit may come (Pentecost is coming in a few weeks…). And when the Spirit comes, then the Christ is 3 scattered to the winds, and suddenly the good news of Christ is preached to all the nations, in myriad languages. Today we’d say Jesus had gone viral! The physical Jesus could only reach a few people at a time, but now his spirit is given to hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands. It’s exploding outward. But that explosion, that viral movement can happen only if the physical presence goes away. And that’s what’s frightening. We cling to the physical manifestation. And when it’s taken away . . . it’s what a three year-old experiences when he’s dropped off at pre-school the first day—the excruciating separation anxiety. Am I ok without Mama? Am I even me without the presence of the Mama? What does Mama know? He can never be himself unless she leaves. She has to go! This is the challenge for us as we approach Pentecost. When the church is centered on itself it focuses on the temple, the building, the institution. Then we live our faith by “coming to church” and most all our efforts go into preserving the tradition, safeguarding the set of beliefs, guarding the ancient rituals. Then the ministers are the ones with collars and robes, and we come and “they” do it for us. But when the church is mission-centered, then we love the building, but we can sit lightly to it, because we know that Church isn’t something you can attend, it’s a thing you’re called to be. You carry a piece of the Christ-Spirit, and I carry a piece of that Spirit. Church isn’t just a place we go to, it’s a place we come from. We carry it within us. The clergy aren’t the ministers, we all are. If we’re baptized, we’re ordained for ministry in the world. We’re blessed here at Saint Luke’s—we have scores and hundreds of people who get that. But we need scores and hundreds more. Look around you, at this beautiful edifice. Is this “the church”? No. St. John tells us: the presence of God transcends any temple. Twelve years ago I found that out the hard way—the hardest way. But also the most profound way. I’ll never forget—you are the church. We are the church for one another and for the world.